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Slick canvas leered beneath the screen, as when, six months ago,
I fell asleep worrying the heavy bag.
and as that pendulum swing caught life and animus like the twitch of a glove
turning and driving to my frightened elbows
the choke in my veins, my tongue shriveling in dust---
Then far-long, as my fingers danced, I knew again the catch of the spine.
And my lips grinned.
I feel long teeth
curving talons. It purrs and crackles
throat tightens, thighs fire.
The letters on the screen, and I remember that cult-chorus,
of a man who knows the world is drowning.
I saw drowning
the cries are silent
Just shoot the dog, you damn bitch.
Then I loosed wolves in me.
I cry PoetryPoetryPoetry hold my hands to my ears
and run, trailing soot in the snow
---and I tore wolf flesh, starved, clawing the carcass
with my little knives.
The rain washes.
It was an odd thing, painstaking, too broad for standard paper.
I never showed it. It was voices frozen
in their scuttling and howls,
big long sharp slick swatted on sooty tin, and still.
stabbing toothed ice pick
oh, yes, YEH-hess, ooh hoo ooh But wolves never howl vomit.
They never starve for hate.
Ah my enemy, you would know me now and fear.
I feel I am Scylla, and recoil from the serpents
in my palms. They don't scrub off...
| Fantastic, bloody fantastic. I've read through quite a few of your writes now - all intriguing, packed full of juicy imagery and very unique. Im a fan of the darker pieces especially, this one was no exception. Like your others, its covered in naturalistic imagery, but the alternative layout and frenzied stream of conciousness bits (in italics) makes it one of my favs. The parts i loved most were|
'I cry PoetryPoetryPoetryPoetry hold my hands to my ears
and run, trailing soot in the snow
-and I tore wolf flesh, starved, clawing the carcass
with my little knives.'
- The crazied madness bursting out of your head contrasted with the vicious images afterwards was really powerful, and neat lines like 'Wolves...never starve for hate'
were really nice touches. Plus, as drowning queen said, the ending was perfect. Okay, adoration over. Well done though, look forward to reading more of your work.
|| Posted on 2005-07-22 00:00:00 | by Von Django | [ Reply to This ] || "I feel I am Scylla, and recoil from the serpents|
in my palms. They don't scrub off..."
I absolutely adore your ending. The whole piece was quite powerful but those lines in particular were lovely.
I have to disagree with Katia in that I enjoyed your format. Yes, some parts were difficult to sort out but I like having to work to understand the meanings behind pieces. Also, the line fallingingreen mentioned as having flow problems ("as the pendulum...") was actually the line that seemed to flow best. It caught my attention from the start because it was so beautifully worded.
Your work is so rich and deep, I could read some of your pieces numerous times and still find new meaning in them with each pass through. And your journal is creatively unusual and entirely intriguing. Very nice work. I'm sure I'll be back.
|| Posted on 2005-07-12 00:00:00 | by drowning_queen | [ Reply to This ] || it had a nice feel to it, however i got stuck at the begining of the piece.."as that pendulum swing caught life and animus like the twitch of a glove"|
i don't know why, but i could not get past that one part.. well, eventually i did.. it just did not seem to flow as well as the rest of the piece.. it feels incomplete.. besides that.. it held together nicely.
|| Posted on 2005-06-06 00:00:00 | by fallingingreen | [ Reply to This ] || Hmmm...well I enjoyed the poem, but to me, the format really took away from the message. I think you might want to straighten things out a bit, in order to allow the reader to interact with the piece more.|
But thats only an opinion
Some very striking images here...but the format is really bugging me, so Im afraid I wont be a very constructive critic...should you tweak it, though, do let me know..
All the best,
|| Posted on 2005-06-06 00:00:00 | by Katia | [ Reply to This ] |